


The Hot 100 Number 1 Singles of 1965 & 1966

by pepperlandgirl4



Category: Mad Men
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-15
Updated: 2010-12-15
Packaged: 2017-10-13 16:42:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/139429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepperlandgirl4/pseuds/pepperlandgirl4
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joan Harris has everything under control. She doesn't need anybody's help. Until the time she does, and nobody notices except Peggy.</p><p>Set after <b>Tomorrowland</b>. Moments of foul language and sexuality, but no more explicit than what you see on the show.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hot 100 Number 1 Singles of 1965 & 1966

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starfishofelves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starfishofelves/gifts).



**1\. Help!**

_When I was younger_  
So much younger than today  
I never needed anybody’s help  
In any way  
But now these days are gone  
I’m not so self-assured

It was a bitter reality that there was simply no ladylike way to vomit. If she bent at the waist, there was still too much distance between herself and the toilet to stop splash back, not to mention the fact that she couldn’t guarantee her aim. But dropping to her knees in the middle of the Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce restrooms with her head hanging over the bowl wasn’t what Joan would consider an option. She tried to minimize the effect by simply not eating, touching nothing more than tea and dry toast, but even that was too much for her stomach to take most days. So she clutched at the porcelain, sweat dripping enthusiastically down her face, and prayed that nobody chose that moment to enter the bathroom.

Like most of her prayers, this one went unanswered. Or perhaps Peggy’s tentative, “Joan?” was an answer of sorts. There was no use pretending not to be there.

“Go away.”

“Are you sick?”

“No, Peggy, I’m perfectly fine.”

“You’ve been in here for a long time.”

Joan gulped down something bitter and thin, something that burned the back of her throat. Her shoulders shook and she swallowed again. Why was this happening to her? This wasn’t normal. This couldn’t be. How was she supposed to give birth in six months if she and the baby both died now from starvation?

“Is it the flu?” Peggy asked, and it was only then that Joan realized she never shut the door. Just when the morning couldn’t get any worse, she reached a new low. Perhaps the entire office knew she was puking her guts out. Oh, who was she kidding? Of course the entire office new. What else would Peggy be doing there?

“No, it’s not the flu.”

Peggy put what was no doubt meant to be a comforting hand on her back. Joan was in no position to shrug off the friendly pat, as unpleasant as she found the contact in that moment.

“All the guys think it’s bad Chinese.”  
“It’s not that, either,” Joan said, forcing herself to straighten. For a moment, she thought everything was going to be okay. Her stomach seemed to be secure where it belonged, there was no fresh bile in her throat, and the room wasn’t spinning in interesting and impossible patterns. If she made it back to the office now, she probably could sell the food poisoning story, and buy herself another day.

Her foot slipped. Or her knees gave up. Or her legs were shaking too badly to allow her to move. Joan wasn’t sure. She felt Peggy’s hand on her back, and then the other woman’s arms were around her shoulders and they were both fighting the pull of gravity. Peggy put her free hand out and braced herself against the wall, somehow managing to keep Joan upright with her other arm. Joan wanted to do her part for the effort, as she’d always been a great team player, and since it was her dress at risk. But she lacked the strength to support herself, and had no choice but to let Peggy guide her to the toilet.

“Well, whatever’s wrong with you, you need to go home.”

Joan sighed and looked up at Peggy’s resolute face. “Are you kidding?”

“The office will survive if you take a half day,” Peggy said. “I’ll get your coat and let Lane know…”

“I can do it,” Joan said, bracing her hands against both sides of the stall and pushing herself to her feet. She was a little sick, not an invalid. There’d probably been something stuck to the bottom of her shoe anyway. Peggy hovered, watching with fretful concern while Joan found her legs. Once she was upright, she took a tentative step, smiling triumphantly when she managed it. The second step was a bit easier, and Peggy kindly moved out of the way so Joan could take her triumphant third step from the stall.

“There, see? Thank you for your concern, Peggy, but everything’s fine now.”

“Everything doesn’t look fine. You look terrible, Joan.”

Joan paused to study herself in the mirror, wincing self-consciously. She did look terrible. The entire week had been bad, but she hadn’t realized it was taking such a heavy toll on her. She splashed her face and straightened her hair, but that did nothing to disguise what she’d been doing in the bathroom. Why was it always so obvious to tell when somebody had been hanging over a toilet? No carefully applied makeup could cover it up, no amount of fussing or hair straightening could disguise it. She still tried.

“I’ll call a cab, too,” Peggy announced.

Joan felt like she was moving under water as she opened her purse and extracted her compact. A little powder on her nose, a little rouge on her cheeks, a little red on her lips, and everything would be _fine_.

“That’s really not necessary….” On the final syllable, vomit erupted from her without warning. Peggy caught her by the back of the head and forced her to bend over the sink, her fingers softening as a dry heave racked through Joan’s body. She gagged and coughed, her temples throbbing.

“There, there. It’ll be okay.”

Joan had to choke back a sob at that. Peggy had never been what Joan would consider worldly, even after she became Don’s special project and got herself promoted out of the secretary pool, but even she couldn’t be this naïve.

It took another five minutes to get out of the bathroom, and by the time they reached Joan’s office, Peggy’s face was so pinched she looked like she swallowed a lemon. Joan would have laughed at her if her back wasn’t killing her and her stomach wasn’t still in active revolt. When Peggy helped her to her chair, she couldn’t help her sigh of relief.

“I’ll be right back.”

“I’m fine now, Peggy.”

“You can say it as often as you like, it doesn’t make it true. You’ll feel better once you’re in bed.”

“What are you going to tell Lane?”

“That you’ve got a bug and you need your rest. Why? Is there something you want me to tell him?” Peggy looked at her with guileless eyes, and Joan realized that Peggy really did think she just had some stomach bug. That was fine. She couldn’t reveal a secret she didn’t know.

“No, that’s perfect. Thank you.”

Peggy’s pursed mouth relaxed into a small smile before she slipped out of the office.

Joan pulled the small radio from her bottom drawer and flipped it on. Lane didn’t like it when they listened to music, but there was something about the little tinny voices and their little tinny melodies that made her feel better. No, that wasn’t true. Nothing could make her feel better, not really. She just didn’t want to be alone with her own thoughts while Peggy took it upon herself to organize Joan’s life.

She returned within minutes, shrugging on her coat as she opened Joan’s door. “The cab will be outside by the time we get downstairs.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to see you home. I would have sent one of the girls with you, but they’re more likely to just get underfoot.”

“And you’re not?”

“You need help. You couldn’t even make it out of the bathroom on your own.”

Nothing less than the truth, but the words still stung. Joan Holloway didn’t need anybody’s help. Ever. Especially not from somebody like Peggy. She couldn’t believe her own body would betray her so thoroughly, reduce her to somebody with no more strength than a child.

“Very well. Will you hand me my coat, please?”

Peggy did more than that. She helped Joan out of her chair and then held her coat open, guiding her into it. Joan bit her lip, cursing everybody, unsure of who to pin for this indignity. There were so many likely culprits, so many people who could be at fault. The only person who wasn’t to blame was Peggy, and in that moment, Joan hated her most of all.

Nobody stared openly as they walked out, but Joan felt their eyes all the same. The other girls probably knew what was going on—Megan had actually paused to give her a look full of emotion that it almost took Joan’s breath away. Was it envy? Sympathy? Was she already imagining what it would be like to be pregnant with Don’s child—Joan had to shudder at that thought—or was she promising herself _she_ would never be escorted out of the office, sick as a dog? At least Peggy didn’t have her arm around Joan’s shoulders.

When they stepped out of the cool building for the simmering pavement, Joan was grateful she didn’t have anything else to puke up. The cab was waiting for them, as Peggy promised, but there seemed to be miles between them and the car. The sun was relentless, unchecked by any clouds or breeze, and though it was already late in September, summer refused to break its hold on the city. Joan could have tolerated the heat, but the _smell_. Had the city ever smelled so rotten and putrid? When she’d first moved there, she had been enchanted with the smell of New York, from the exhaust to the street vendors and everything in between. It had all been so new, so unexpected, so _alive_.

Joan would never give voice to the desire, but she pretty much wanted to die. Death would be preferable to this endless nausea, the sensitivity, the heat. It had to be.

Peggy bundled her into the cab and prompted Joan to give her address. Peggy didn’t know where she lived. The younger woman had never been invited to the apartment Joan shared with Greg--where she lived alone. Peggy produced the cash when they reached Joan’s address, but by then, Joan was so hot and dizzy, she didn’t care where the money came from.

The elevator operator greeted them with a slight nod as they entered. Joan leaned in the corner, wiping the sweat from her lip. If she had known. If she had known it would be like this…

Well, if she had known, nothing else would have changed. That was the tragedy of the situation. Given a perfect knowledge of the consequences of her actions, she still would have made the same choices. Right or wrong, they had been the best she could do, and even if that meant she had pay for the rest of her life, she would own that.

“Floor fourteen.”

The doors swished open and Joan jerked forward, too out of breath to declare this was her floor. Peggy hurried after her, the heels of her shoes clicking against the floor in a rapid pattern. Joan wasn’t trying to outrun Peggy, but she did hurry as fast as she could, desperate to be within the safety of her own walls and her own bathroom. Her fingers betrayed her, though, and the crash of her key ring hitting the floor echoed through her mind like an accusation. She stared down at the dull silver and brass, her fingers shaking so badly she couldn’t even make a fist.

“I’ll get it,” Peggy said, crouching down to scoop the keys up.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into me. It’s that silver one there. Yeah, that one.”

“You’re tired. It happens to everybody.”

 _What would you know about it?_ She bit back the sharp words, swallowing them down like she swallowed so many others. One day, she’d be so full of words that she’d simply burst. That would probably be her last day as an employee at Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce.

Peggy unlocked the door and gently guided Joan inside, as though she were the hostess. Joan shrugged her coat off and mustered the last of her strength to remain on her feet.

“Thank you, Peggy. I won’t take up any more of your time.”

“Are you sure you don’t need my help? I can make you tea.”

“I’m quite sure. You’ve already been more than enough help.”

“Is there anybody I can call?”

Joan didn’t think she was smiling anymore. Her mouth was stretched into something, but it definitely wasn’t a smile. Her face hurt, the mask she usually wore freezing to the point of crumbling.

“No, there’s nobody to call.”

Peggy wanted to protest again. It was all over her face. But deep down inside, she was still that quiet girl who wouldn’t say boo to a mouse, and all Joan had to do was quirk her eyebrow. Peggy backed up a step, looking none-too-happy about it but backing down for now.

“Then I guess I’ll see you at the office.”

“Yes, bright and early tomorrow.”

“You shouldn’t come in if you’re sick,” Peggy protested. “You should at least call a doctor.”

“I shall take that under advisement.”

Peggy finally relented and stepped into the corridor. Joan sighed with relief and closed the door behind her. She sank to the floor almost immediately, relieved to be alone. More lonely than she’d ever been in her life. This wasn’t her. She shouldn’t be sitting on the floor, but her body didn’t care. Her body didn’t belong to her anymore—maybe it hadn’t in years. Maybe it never would again.

**2\. Hang on Sloopy**

_But when Sloopy wears that red dress yeah_  
You know it gives me the chills, oh,  
Sloopy when I see you walkin’, walkin’ down that street  
I say “Don’t worry Sloopy, girl, you belong to me”  


 

The men in the office could be oblivious, self-absorbed, and arrogant, but they were not stupid and Joan learned as a young woman to underestimate them at her own peril. When they started commenting on the bits and pieces, she knew it would only be a matter of time until the blind men realized they were touching an elephant. Rizzo made an offhand comment about how she really started letting herself go after her husband left. Don looked at her with that stupid grin he wore all the time these days and asked her if she’d done something different with her hair because she was “glowing.” Pryce enquired if she’d gone to the doctor about her “stomach bug”—which might have been a pointed question on her condition, but she chose to hear as a general inquiry of the state of her health. When a violent mood swing resulted in her snapping at Campbell, his face flashed with surprise and recognition before he meekly apologized.

Naturally, it was Roger who put all the pieces together first. Perhaps because he had always known. He looked at her over the conference table, and he really _saw_ her. Saw that her breasts were a little fuller, saw that her dress was a little tighter around the hips, saw her eyes were a little sunken and shadowed from sleepless nights. His mouth thinned a little, and something flickered in his eyes. She’d known he would figure it out, of course. She planned to work in the office for as long as she could, as invested as the partners in keeping the firm afloat, and that meant she couldn’t hide it forever.

“Joan? Could I see you in my office?”

“Certainly, Mr. Sterling.”

When the door shut behind them, her throat tingled with warning. She recognized the sensation, had experienced it a thousand times in the past two weeks. At least that meant the conversation would be necessarily brief.

“It’s Greg’s,” Joan said without preamble.

“As far as he’s concerned.”

“As far as anybody’s concerned.”

“We agreed that…”

“I’m not asking anything from you, Roger. It’s Greg’s.”

“It’s easy to say that now, but both you and I know that’s not the case.”

Joan smiled tightly. “It doesn’t matter. It’s too late to change my mind a second time.”

“What’s he going to say when the math doesn’t add up?”

“What concern is it of yours?” Joan snapped, the tingle in her throat suddenly forming into a lump she couldn’t swallow around. “What happens between myself and my husband is none of your business.”

“It is my business when I am what’s between yourself and your husband.”

“No, Roger.” She offered a small smile—the most she could spare this creature—and shook her head. “You’re not. Not anymore.”

“How can you say that when there will always be a living, breathing reminder that we’re soul mates?”

“Soul mates, Roger? _Soul mates_? You’re unbelievable. Do you have any idea how long I waited for you? Well, you’ve finally caught up to that, but I’m not there anymore. And I haven’t been in a long time.”

“We shouldn’t be talking about this here. Let’s go out to lunch. The old place or something new. I don’t care.”

“Do you think there’s more to say?”

“Yeah, I think there’s more to say! I think there’s a lot more to say, Joan. I’ve been thinking…about us, and about…” He gestured at her stomach. “It’s not too late for us.”

“Yes it is. I don’t know what you want, Roger. How can I when you don’t even know what you want? But it’s not this. You don’t want to raise another child. You’ll be disappointed. You’re always so disappointed.”

“Oh, Red, you never disappointed me. That’s the point.”

Joan shook her head, the lump in her throat growing larger until she couldn’t breathe and the tears were right there, threatening to drown her. She was done crying over Roger Sterling and had been for a very long time. But this new body didn’t care, and the tears pushed harder and harder, flooding her eyes until they had no room and simply had to fall.

“We disappoint each other. What are we going to do? Get divorced and marry each other? Then you’ll be disappointed that I’m just your wife, and I’ll be disappointed that you’re just a man.”

“Joan, no, I—“

“It’s Greg’s,” Joan said, cutting him off sharply. “It’s Greg’s, and this is the last time we will ever discuss it.”

When Joan pulled the door open, Roger didn’t try to stop her from leaving. At that time of the afternoon, she had a good shot at reaching her own office unmolested. But she barely took her first two steps before Peggy was in her face.

“Can I get you anything?” Joan asked icily.

“No, but I thought…are you okay?”

“I’m perfectly fine.”

“Would you like some coffee?”

“Are you asking because you want me to make a pot?”

“No. But I need some air before I kill Rizzo. I’ll buy you a cup.”

There was work to do. There was always work to do. She would need to talk to Lane soon about training her replacement, because if she left to have the baby, the whole office would fall apart. She’d already made a shortlist of girls who she thought somewhat capable of taking over her role. None of them were perfect, but they were trustworthy enough to keep things running for a month or two. There was so much work to do, but at that moment, she only wanted to be as far away from Roger as she could possibly get.

“Thank you, Peggy. Let me grab my coat.”

Peggy didn’t duck her head into Don or Lane’s office to let them know she was leaving. She didn’t even say anything to Rizzo, just collected her coat, her gloves, and purse and met Joan at the elevator. Joan herself didn’t need to check in for every errand she ran out of the office, but she never had the sort of liberty that Peggy now took for granted. She never abused it like the men did, and she was always the first person there (after Joan and Lane of course). But she did have that small little privilege, and Joan sometimes wondered if Peggy even realized it, much less appreciated it. Did she remember where she came from and who she’d been just a few short years before?

By the time they reached the street, Joan’s tears were gone, evaporated or absorbed. Her breathing had returned to normal, too. She no longer felt like she was drowning.

“It’s not bad Chinese or a stomach bug, is it?” Peggy finally asked.

“No,” Joan said, bracing herself for a flood of follow up questions.

Peggy fished a kerchief from her purse and pressed it into Joan’s hand. She dabbed at the corners of her eyes and muttered, “I must look a fright.”

“No, just a little tired.”

Joan snorted. “No, Peggy, I was a little tired in college. Right now I feel…fucking exhausted.”

Peggy looked up sharply at the obscenity, but could only manage her disapproving stare for a second before she chuckled. “Maybe you should take the rest of the day off.”

“No. I’ve already had two half-days this past month. Lane will get suspicious.”

“Lane has a child of his own. He’s probably already figured it out.”

“Then he’ll tell me to go home and stay there.”

“No, Lane wouldn’t say that.”

“Why not? That’s what I’m supposed to do, isn’t it? I can’t very well work in my condition.”

“Of course you can. Your condition has nothing to do with your abilities. It’s not like you suddenly turn into a cripple or something.”

“Lane won’t see it that way.”

“Lane gave you a promotion without a raise. He knows as well as you do that the firm needs you right now. Besides, none of the men put in a full day’s worth of work. Ever.”

“It’s different for us.”

“Of course it is.”

They reached the deli on the corner, Peggy pulling the door open for Joan. The first gust of air in her face was like a punch in the mouth, and she reeled back from the assault, her gorge rising. Peggy’s face crumpled with concern, and she put an arm around Joan to guide her away, the door swinging shut behind them.

“I thought…I was feeling better today. I didn’t think it would bother me like that. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” Peggy said quickly. “Have you been able to eat anything at all?”

“Eat? Sure. But keeping it down? That’s another thing entirely.”

“What about your doctor? Surely you’ve discussed it with him?”

“Of course I called his office after the third straight day of puking my guts out. He told me the baby was just a little restless, and I should take it easy. He suggested bed rest.”

“Then maybe…”

“I can’t, Peggy.”

“But if that’s for the best for you and the…”

“I can’t.”

“Okay. Do you still want that coffee? I can run in and get it.”

Joan nodded. “I’ll wait here.”

A car stopped on the curb a few feet away, rumbling black smoke and blasting its radio. Joan discreetly covered her nose, blocking the worst of the terrible smell while the music floated around her. _You know, Sloopy girl, you belong to me._

**3\. Over and Over**

_She said I’m sorry_  
And I was a little bit late  
She would a-wait and a-wait and a-wait and a-wait  
For her steady date

Lane found money somehow, somewhere (maybe from his own pocket) for a Christmas party. It wasn’t as lavish as the one Joan had thrown for Lee Garner Jr, but Lane had quietly insisted that it would be good for morale. Perhaps because nobody had expected the firm to make it through another year, to see another Christmas. They weren’t in the clear, but Ken and Pete had both brought in another account, and there was the sense that maybe, maybe, the worst was behind them.

Joan had a new green dress.

Well. She had several new dresses, each one of them designed to accommodate her expanding waistline. Greg had laughingly given her permission to spend as much money as she needed, extracting a promise that she would find a dress to show off her assets. He asked for pictures every time they spoke, but there was something different about his requests now. There was an edge to his voice, like the situation was finally wearing him down. He was homesick, wanted to be there for Christmas, wanted to see her in her new party dress, wanted to touch her stomach.

Joan was becoming intimately acquainted with the nuances of her husband’s voice, but she couldn’t remember his face. Not quite. He seemed like somebody she knew a long time ago, when she was young and mostly carefree. She remembered a few things. That he was boyishly handsome. The sort of handsome that would never age gracefully. His head would get fat, his jaw would lose its definition, and one day his teeth would be yellow and crooked. He wouldn’t be like Roger, wearing his years with pride.

He would never be anything like Roger, which would always be the most attractive thing about him, even when he got old and fat.

Unfortunately for Joan and her green dress, Greg was thousands of miles away, and Roger was only on the other side of the room, talking to Don and Megan. Don had a protective arm around her waist, and she leaned into his side like she was born to occupy that space. Both of them were smiling, and Joan had to admit, they were an extremely striking couple. Later that night, they would go home and Don would peel away that tight blue dress like he was unwrapping a Christmas present. She’d lean into him then, too, her face upturned in invitation, her nipples hard and straining for his touch.

Joan took a deep breath and sipped from her champagne. The bubbles tickled her nose and teased her senses, but did very little to distract her from the extremely vivid image her imagination was painting. Megan would push his jacket from his shoulders, sliding it off his broad frame and letting her fingers linger on muscles she could feel beneath his shirt. When she pulled him close, he would smell like the glass of scotch he’d been nursing all night, cologne, and that raw male smell that always made Joan’s mouth water.

It wasn’t that she wanted Don. She could always appreciate him as a handsome example of the male specimen, but there was never that sizzle between them. Perhaps because Don never wanted her. But if she didn’t think about Megan undressing Don, she’d be forced to think about Roger undressing her. And then he would circle the room like a predator and corner her against the wall, because somehow—somehow—he always _knew_.

Don smiled down at his new wife, laughing at something she’d said. Watching the two off them, one would think that Megan was simply the wittiest, funniest woman on the planet. Even Roger smiled in response, looking undeniably charmed. Jealousy twisted in her chest, a possessive urge making her wish she could show her claws and send Megan running the other direction. Then she would be the center of both men’s attentions, and that sent her mind ricocheting off into a startling yet oddly welcome direction. Joan had seen a bit of the world. She understood the possibilities two men represented.

“Joan? Are you okay?”

Joan blinked, focusing on the young woman who had nothing to do with any of her fantasies.

“Peggy. I’m fine. Why?”

“You look a bit…flushed.”

“Oh, do I?”

“And you were staring at Don like…well like…”

“I think I just need a bit of air,” Joan said, setting down her glass and hoping Peggy would take the hint. Of course, she didn’t, because Peggy never seemed to get the hint. Joan couldn’t tell if she was intentionally obtuse or merely thick. Either way, she followed Joan into her office, never taking her eyes off Joan’s face.

“What was going on out there?”

“Nothing,” Joan said quickly.

“It looked like something.”

“Peggy, I have had a very long day and I’m very tired.”

“Tired? Is that why you were looking at Don like he’s a piece of meat?”

“What’s it to you? It’s not like I’m encroaching on territory you’ve marked.”

“No, but _somebody_ has already claimed him and you’re…well…” She gestured at Joan’s chest. “Look at yourself.”

Joan looked down and her cheeks reddened for a different reason. Both nipples were erect, proudly attracting attention to themselves. Maybe that was how Roger always knew just what was on her mind. She pulled a cigarette from her case, lighting it and inhaling deeply before speaking again.

“It’s not Don.”

“Were you looking at Roger?” Peggy asked with barely disguised shock (or maybe disgust).

“No. Yes.” Joan sighed and sank to her chair. It wouldn’t do any good to try to explain to Peggy, the most sexless girl in the office, possibly the city, but she clearly had no intention of letting Joan leave. “I’m lonely, Peggy.”

“That’s no reason to—“

“No, Peggy, I’m _lonely_. Greg can’t come home for Christmas, and I think the pregnancy…the hormones, or something. I feel like I’m climbing the walls.”

“Oh. _Oh._ Oh, I see.”

“I’m not sure you do.”

“Trust me, Joan. I understand completely.”

“It’s not that I want…anybody here. It’s that lately, I feel like I want _everybody_. All of the time. I haven’t felt like this since…well, it’s been a long time.”

“Can’t you just…you know…” Peggy hemmed for a moment. “Take matters into your own hands?”

“Why Peggy Olson, are you suggesting I masturbate? A good girl like you?”

Now it was Peggy’s turn to blush. “Well?”

“It’s not enough.”

“Well you can’t have sex with Roger.”

Joan laughed bitterly. “Yes, I’m fully aware of that.”

“Maybe…there’s this…exercise device.”

“I hardly think that’ll help, Peggy.”

“It might.”

Joan opened her mouth to protest, but the door flew open and Pete stuck his head into the office. “What are you two girls doing in here? Trudy’s here. She brought the baby.”

“We’ll be right there,” Joan said, snuffing out her cigarette.

“How much longer do we have to pretend to be excited about the baby?” Peggy asked when Pete shut the door.

“He’s like all new fathers. There’s nothing more important in this world than the proof of his manhood.”

Peggy’s face faltered a little. Her smile didn’t fade and her eyes remained steady, but there was something different. Like a light had burned out inside of her.

“Don’t worry, Peggy. One day it’ll be your turn.”

“Oh, I’m not worried about that.” It was said with such easy indifference that Joan had to believe her. But there was still something off. For the first time, it occurred to Joan that Peggy might have some secrets of her own.

The next morning, a carrier knocked on Joan’s door at some ungodly hour. He presented her with a square package wrapped in festive paper, wished her a Merry Christmas, and left without providing a single clue of where it came from or what it could be. Curious, she tore through the paper, leaving it in shreds on the floor. Taped to the box was a white card that bore Peggy’s signature.

The Passive Exercise Regime was a pink belt with all sorts of unsightly and off-putting wires hanging from some sort of battery pack right in the center. Joan didn’t even need to debate it with herself. At that point, only results interested her.

The results were quite profound.

Joan returned the gesture by sending the finest bottle of wine in the house. She would just have to find something else to drink to celebrate Greg’s eventual return.

**4\. We Can Work It Out**

_Try to see it my way  
Do I have to keep talking til I can’t go on?_

“Mrs. Harris, have you decided what you’re going to do?”

“About what, Mr. Pryce?”

“Your impending miracle.”

“I didn’t know that I needed to do anything about it.”

“You know what I mean.”

Joan shut the door behind her and tried to smile at the man on the other side of the desk. She and Lane didn’t always see eye-to-eye, but they understood each other, and they trusted each other. They had to, because there was nobody else. Just the two of them doing everything they could to keep Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce afloat. Everybody in the office knew times were still tough, knew they still needed to land the big client that would replace Lucky Strike in their accounting books and their hearts, and until Pete or Ken found that client, it was on Lane and Joan’s shoulders to keep their chins just above the water.

Lane needed her, damn it. The conversation was inevitable, but couldn’t they have waited until the end of February?

“I’ve already discussed it with my doctor, and I’ll be staying on until March.”

“March?”

“Yes.”

“Mrs. Harris, I remember when my own son was born. My secretary was on firm instructions to let me know the minute the hospital called. I was in a meeting when she summoned me.”

“That’s a lovely story.”

“My point is simply that it was easier to continue my work and provide for my family when I didn’t have to worry about Mrs. Pryce’s health. I knew she was safe and well cared for. Do you see what I’m saying?”

“No.”

“It’s simply not…safe for you to be working in your current condition.”

Joan frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Your body is very…delicate. I’m only concerned for your health.”

“I assure you, I am in perfect health. As I said, I just spoke to my doctor and everything is as it should be.”

“But we must continue to ensure…”

“I’m not going to spend the next three months…”

“Three? I thought the baby was due in May.”

“I naturally planned to remain home the final month,” Joan said smoothly.

“Joan, trust me, I wish I wasn’t having this conversation with you. We need you here, and I’ll be the first to admit as much. But your health and the health of your child is just as important, and I will not allow you to compromise either.”

“Allow?” Joan asked slowly.

“Yes. I am still your boss, and I’ve allowed you to work for the past four weeks despite your advancing condition.”

“Advancing condition? Why can’t you just say the word, Lane? I’m pregnant. It’s not a condition. It’s not some sort of disease. And I’m _fine_.”

“Be that as it may…”

“Did somebody tell you that you had to speak with me?”

“Some of the partners have expressed concern,” Lane started.

“What did they say?”

“Joan…”

“What did they _say_ , Pryce?”

“That a woman in your condition shouldn’t be pushing the mail cart and meeting with clients. It makes them…nervous.”

“If I’m not here to do that, who will?”

“One of the other girls will naturally assume your responsibilities. Until…if…you return.”

“ _If_ I return? Are you firing me?”

“It is rather unorthodox, is it not, to continue to work after you begin a family?”

“Unorthodox? _Are_ you firing me?”

“No, of course not, Joan. But there is a clear precedent for women who leave the office to start a family and never return. We’ve both seen it a thousand times before. Have you ever had any girl come back to the secretary pool?”

“No. But I’m not some girl and we’re not talking about the secretary pool.”

“I’m aware of that, and of course, your job will still be here should you wish to return.”

Lane looked at her expectantly and she realized this was the moment she was supposed to thank him, stand, and go gather her things. Once, not too long ago, all she wanted was an excuse to quit her job and dedicate herself to the life she’d been raised for, the wife of a successful surgeon and doting mother to his perfect children. She still wanted the child, but now she couldn’t even imagine what her life would like. She wasn’t the wife of a successful surgeon, she didn’t have the beautiful house in the suburbs, and what was she supposed to _do_ without her job?

Joan still had plenty to say on the subject, but Lane was clearly done listening to her. She smiled, stood, tried not to let the tears show—they were always close to the surface now. She still hated it, but at least she was accustomed to it and knew how to wipe them away from the corners of her eyes without anybody noticing, knew how to tilt her head so the light wouldn’t catch the drops of water clinging to her lashes.

Her steps were measured and careful, her shoulders back, her face carefully disciplined. She was supposed to go straight to her office, but she couldn’t bring herself to open the door, and instead found herself outside Peggy’s office. The door was open and Rizzo was regaling Peggy with an obviously unwanted tale of his performance the night before with a young secretary from a rival ad agency. Peggy didn’t appear to be listening at all, but that didn’t stop Rizzo from sharing his rather crude tale.

Joan hesitated, stepping to the side, out of Peggy’s direct line of sight. Since Christmas, Peggy had made it a point to check in once a day just to ask if Joan was all right. A part of Joan chafed every time she saw the question forming on Peggy’s face, but another part of her welcomed the daily question, and even considered giving an answer besides “Everything is fine.”

Everything wasn’t fine. Everything hadn’t been fine for a long time, and Peggy was the only person who could be bothered to care. With her shoulders back, she knocked lightly on the door, interrupting Rizzo’s story before he reached the unfortunate climax.

“Excuse me, I need to speak to Ms. Olson privately.”

Rizzo started to protest, but Joan cut him off with a pointed glare, reducing him to minor grumbling as he left the office to the two women. Joan shut the door behind him and deflated as soon as it clicked shut.

“What happened?”

Joan was absurdly grateful that Peggy didn’t start with _what’s wrong?_

“Lane’s told me my services are not currently necessary. I’m not to come back on Monday.”

“What?” Peggy looked at least as angry as Joan felt. “Did he fire you?”

“No. He said I could back after the baby is born. But in the meantime, I’m apparently making people uncomfortable.”

“How?”

“The sight of my _delicate condition_ is too much for the men to bear, I suppose.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. You haven’t even been sick since before Christmas.” Peggy shut her notebook, her brow growing heavy with anger. “Maybe I should talk to Don.”

“No, you shouldn’t do that.”

“But Don will…”

“What? He probably is the one who told Lane to talk to me.”

“I doubt that. Besides, he’s been very…reasonable lately.”

“You mean he’s been very distracted because his wife still works just outside his door.”

“Yeah.” Peggy leaned over her desk. “That’s kind of weird, right? I know she doesn’t want to be a secretary forever. What’s he _waiting_ for?”

“I don’t know, Peggy.” Joan settled in the chair recently abandoned by Rizzo. “I wonder how long it’ll be before she’s in the family way.”

“I don’t think she wants to have kids. She told me she’s needed here.”

“Oh, lord. What does she think she’s doing that’s so necessary?”

“Hey. It’s not easy being Don’s secretary.”

“No offense meant, of course.”

Peggy straightened the cups on her desk—a nervous habit that she probably didn’t notice at all—and clasped her fingers together. “What if you just ignored him?”

“I can’t just ignore him. He would notice.”

“He’s not going to fire you,” Peggy pointed out. “He can’t.”

Joan sighed. “Don’t be foolish, Peggy. Lane could run this place without me.”

“No. He couldn’t.”

“It’s sweet of you to say so, but…”

“Joan, Lane would have no idea how to do half of what I know you’re responsible for every day. If you want to keep working, then I think you should…stand up for yourself.”

“Stand up for myself,” Joan repeated.

“Yes. You have the right to say that you don’t want to put up with their bullshit. And if you don’t, I will.”

“No, you won’t. I didn’t come in here so you would go pick a fight.”

“Then why did you come in here?”

Joan picked a stray piece of lint from her skirt. This dress was green, too, though not the same rich, dark tone as her Christmas dress. She liked it well enough, but she missed her real clothes. These new dresses felt too much like costumes, and though they weren’t exactly ugly, Joan couldn’t imagine anybody wearing them who didn’t have to. They were dresses made for women who didn’t have any other choice.

“I just needed to tell somebody.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Decorate the nursery. Knit boots. Watch television.”

“Well that sounds…fun. I still think you should let me talk to Don.”

“What difference does it make? If I don’t go home this week, I’ll just be sent home next week or the week after that. But I’m not ready to say goodbye just yet.”

Peggy blinked. “Who said anything about saying goodbye? You just told me that Lane said you could come back. You _need_ to come back. Nothing would ever get done around here without you.”

“How can I come back when I have to be both mother and father to a new baby? Nobody comes back after they start a family, Peggy. You can’t have both a career and a family.”

“Why not? Men do it all the time.”

“Men do it because they have wives.”

“Then hire a nanny. That’s what their wives do, right?”

“You make it sound like it’s so easy.”

“It’s not easy, Joan. Nothing’s ever easy. But you couldn’t walk away from this place any more than I could.”

“No,” Joan stood. “I better go pack my office.”

“I help you,” Peggy announced.

“No, you’re busy. I don’t want to take you from your work.”

“I’m not that busy. Besides, I’m enjoying this break from Rizzo.”

“Is he always such a charming companion?”

“He’s annoyed with me because I’m not sleeping with him. I don’t know why he thinks telling me ridiculous, fake stories is going to change my mind. Like hearing about what a stud he is will show me the error of my ways. He didn’t even stop after he found out I have a boyfriend.”

“You have a boyfriend?”

“Yes.”

“Why have you never mentioned him?”

“Because you never asked.”

“What’s he like?”

“He’s…sweet.”

“Are you going to marry him or are you just having fun?”

“I don’t know. We do have a lot of fun together but I…”

“You?” Joan prompted.

“Nothing.”

“You wouldn’t let me get away with that. What were you going to say?”

“Inside,” Peggy muttered, urging Joan into her office and shutting the door behind her. Joan crossed to the other door and shut that as well, locking it so Ken or Harry didn’t bustle through like they owned the place and she was merely borrowing it.

“Well?” Joan asked.

“I don’t want to get married.”

“Oh, is that all?”

“Isn’t that enough? If I said that out there, they’d all think there’s something wrong with me. What kind of woman doesn’t want to get married? What kind of woman is more attached to her job? What kind of woman doesn’t want to have kids?”

“You could change your mind about that,” Joan started.

“I won’t.”

“If the right man…”

“No. There is no right man, and he’s not going to come along.”

She said it with such finality that Joan didn’t question her again. She didn’t know what kind of woman Peggy was. She barely even knew what kind of person Peggy was, and they’d known each other for five years. Five years. It hardly seemed possible, yet, there they were.

“Does your beau know that you don’t want to get married?”

“He’s not traditional like that.”

Joan laughed. “They’re all traditional like that, honey. Deep down inside, they all know that getting married is the best thing for them.”

“It’s not the best thing for me.”

“You don’t want a family of your own, Peggy?”

“I have a family of my own, and quite frankly, I don’t like them. I like it here.”

Joan didn’t have a response for that. She couldn’t remember a time she didn’t want to be married. She’d invested so many years building the perfect marriage, the perfect family, in her mind that now she still found herself waiting for that part of her life to begin.

**5\. Sounds of Silence**

_Hello darkness, my old friend,_  
I’ve come to talk with you again  
Because a vision softly creeping  
Left its seeds while I was sleeping…  
…In restless dreams I walked alone

Joan’s mother was the greatest woman in the world, and anybody who thought otherwise would have to answer to Joan and her four brothers. Grace Saunders Holloway had died in the same Nebraska town where she was born. In the intervening forty-seven years, she single-handedly raised five children, ran the family farm, and took no shit from anybody. Joan never really knew her father. Martin Holloway had died just three years after she was born without ever setting eyes on his youngest child and only daughter. Joan hadn’t thought about her mother in years, but with the baby kicking enthusiastically at her ribs and nothing but time on her hands, she found her thoughts returning to Grace more often.

The last time she saw Grace was the day she left for college. There had still been so much to say, so much to learn, but Joan was arrogant and eager to be gone. Grace was old-fashioned, religious, restrictive, and the embodiment of everything Joan wished to escape. Her music scholarship would cover her tuition and room and board, and she was the first person in her family—female or otherwise—to go to college. Grace had nothing more to teach her, and Joan was done listening.

Joan spread her fingers over her bulging midsection, trying to soothe the restless creature inside of her. She’d had a lot of time to think in the six weeks since Lane sent her home, and she’d reached one overwhelming conclusion—she couldn’t raise a child. She knew nothing of raising children. She understood the basics, of course, and felt confident she could keep the kid fed, bathed, and dressed. But there was more to it than that. A part of Joan had believed that the knowledge she needed would somehow be gifted to her. One day she would wake up from a restless sleep to discover she knew exactly what she needed to do, and why, and how. But that day never came.

She remembered leaving the shack where she was raised, promising herself she would never go back to that place. She’d never be alone and overworked. She’d never be like her mother, abandoned and then widowed with little mouths to feed and no money. No, she was going to be like the women she idolized on the silver screen. Tough but vulnerable like Katherine Hepburn, sexy and dangerous like Marlene Dietrich, perfect and mysterious like Ingrid Bergman. None of those women would be caught dead in a shack made of wood and tar paper, with five kids hanging off of them and dirty feet. If she played her role correctly, she’d have the men eating out of the palm of her hand and the world would be her oyster.

How a person could be so right and so very wrong all at once remained a mystery to Joan. Her plan had been good, solid, foolproof. Her judgment on the other hand…well, that always left a little something to be desired. She fell in love with the wrong men for the wrong reasons, and instead of being the pampered wife of a successful surgeon or a high ranking politician, she was in the same place she’d always been. Only she didn’t have her mother now, and all her friends from college were different people now with lives and problems ten years removed from Joan’s current place in life.

The television was her constant companion, her one picture out into the world, as the motion pictures had been in her youth. She let herself get caught up in the daily dramas, investing her over-abundant and directionless emotions in the afternoon stories that meant nothing and went nowhere. There were more hours than there were chores, more endless minutes than there was anything else.

There was one bright spot. One hour when her day turned on its head and everything felt right again. The exact timing of that hour changed daily, sometimes early in the evening, and sometimes much later than one should ever accept polite company. But Joan didn’t care what time Peggy arrived. She didn’t even wish that Peggy was somebody else. She was too grateful for the reminder that she wasn’t completely isolated, shut up like a princess in a tower. Joan had never wanted to be a princess.

Dinner was still warm when she heard Peggy’s sharp knock. There was snow in her hair and color in her cheeks. Which actually suited her. She always looked much too…sickly. Joan had offered to show her how to apply her makeup, but Peggy always stiffly declined, like Joan was a bitch for saying anything in the first place. But Joan couldn’t ignore the fact that Peggy was in dire need of help, whether or not she wanted to admit it.

“Come in. Drink?”

“Please.” Peggy shrugged off her coat and unwound the scarf from her throat, then made a beeline for the box of cigarettes. Her soft sigh followed the click of the lighter, but she didn’t look any more relaxed. The hand not holding the cig was clenched in a fist, and her mouth was set in a hard, angry line. As far as Joan knew, only one person could make her that angry.

“What did Don do now?” Joan asked, handing her a scotch and soda.

“He’s promoted his wife.”

“Oh, dear. How far up the ladder has she gone?”

“She’s working with me on Topaz.”

Joan blinked. “Wow. Let me know if you need another drink."

“Thanks. It’s just…frustrating. If he wants to put her on an account, why not put her on one of _his_? He thinks she’s going to say something brilliant, and I don’t really have the time to babysit her. You know, the people at Topaz expect at least a dozen brilliant ideas at every meeting. How can I think of brilliant ideas if I’m dealing with her?”

“Freddy might have felt the same way about you when you first started,” Joan reminded her lightly.

“No, he didn’t. Plus I didn’t just sleep or marry my way to the job. Why couldn’t she go the hard way like the rest of us?”

“I’m sure being married to Don can’t be easy.”

Peggy waved her hand dismissively. “Don’s not that difficult to figure out.”

“Have you told Don this? He still seems to be struggling with that.”

“She’s a secretary,” Peggy bit out.

“Well, so were you.”

“But I had to prove myself. In fact, I had to be both at the same time!”

“She’s not his secretary any longer?”

“No. He’s got another girl filling in so Megan can concentrate on her new career.” Peggy sat at the table with her empty glass. Joan quietly refilled it before joining her. “At least Rizzo has discovered a previous unknown sense of self-preservation. He doesn’t want to offend Mrs. Draper right now, which means he mostly keeps his mouth shut.”

“Will miracles never cease?”

“Pete’s nearly brought in a new account. It should be worth half a million if he lands it.”

“So the firm is still solvent?”

“For now.”

“I hope there’s a job for me to return to.”

Peggy shook her head. “It’s not as bad as last fall. It’s not great, but Don and Pete are both optimistic.”

“What about Roger?”

Peggy buried her fork in the mountain of mashed potatoes on her plate. “He’s…I don’t know, Joan. He’s not around much, and when he is, he locks himself in his office and…well, who knows what he does in there. I think he and Don had another fight, because they’re not talking to each other, and Roger seems…old.”

“Old?”

“Old. Gray. Like right after his heart attack.”

“Is he sick?”

Peggy shrugged and took another bite of her potatoes. “I don’t know. But he’s not bringing in any accounts. He’s not doing anything. Don thinks…he should retire.”

“He hasn’t said that to Roger, has he?”

“I don’t know. But he’s probably right. Wouldn’t Roger be much happier playing golf all day and drinking? I mean, that’s basically what he did when he was working.”

“No.” Joan looked at her untouched food, wondering what possessed her to make roast and potatoes. “No, that wouldn’t make Roger happy.”

“Then what would?” Peggy asked, her tone indicating she didn’t necessarily need to hear Joan’s answer.

“Probably nothing.”

“Well, I’m tired of talking about work. How are you feeling today?”

“Fine. The baby spent the day trying to break my ribs, but other than that, fine.”

Joan couldn’t remember the day when dinner stopped being an awkward gesture of gratitude for Peggy stopping by with news and treats and started being a normal part of their days. What Peggy got from the visits, Joan wasn’t sure. After all, the other woman did have a social life, apparently. Going out to dinner with her hip friends or dancing with her boyfriend had to be preferable to eating dinner with a grouchy, pregnant lady.

“This is really good,” Peggy said. “I don’t think I’ve ever had potatoes like this.”

“Thanks. It’s my mother’s recipe.”

“Your mother must have been a good cook.”

“I don’t know. She was good at making do.”

“I’m not surprised.”

Joan smiled. “More gravy?”

“Yes, please. You’re good at that, too, you know. You’re going to be fine.”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence.”

It was Peggy’s turn to smile. “Any time.”

**6\. The Ballad of the Green Berets**

_Back at home a young wife waits_  
Her Green Beret has met his fate  
He has died for those oppressed

The knock was too early in the afternoon to be Peggy but too late to be any deliveries, and she wasn’t expecting anybody else. She absently flipped off the television and put her cigarette out, pausing at the mirror near the door to inspect her hair. She smiled at herself and ran her tongue over her white teeth, satisfied that she wasn’t letting herself go just because she was stuck in her little apartment all day. Later, she would look back on that moment with a stab of inexplicable guilt, hating herself for being shallow, for pausing at the door, for smiling. Maybe if she possessed any other clear memories of that day, she wouldn’t have fixated so thoroughly on that tiny, meaningless moment.

Two men stood on the other side of the door, each in their formal uniforms. The one on her left was probably her age, and the other looked a good twenty years older. One look at his hard face, at the deep grooves around his mouths and eyes, and she knew.

“Please, no,” she whispered, her hand flying to her mouth.

“Mrs. Gregory Harris?”

“Yes.” _No, no, no, please no. Please don’t say it. Please let this be a mistake. Please, I can’t do this alone. Please, please, please._

“Mrs. Harris, the Secretary of the Army has asked me to express his deepest regret that your husband Greg was killed in action in Lo Ki Vietnam on March 5, 1966.”

“Killed in action? How could he be killed in action?” Joan demanded. “He’s a _surgeon_. Surgeons don’t see any action.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, the circumstances of his death have been classified. The Secretary extends his deepest sympathy for you and your family for your tragic loss.”

“Oh, he does, does he? That’s wonderful. That will definitely help me now.” Joan slammed the door shut, heat crawling up her neck and face, her eyes and scalp tingling. She didn’t feel like crying. She thought the top of her head might explode, but she didn’t feel like crying. Her chest ached, her heart freezing behind her ribs. The baby rolled and kicked, beating her, and her lungs refused to cooperate. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t see. But at least she wasn’t crying.

Something hot splashed on the back of her hand, drawing her attention to the fact that her fingers were shaking. She folded them into tight fists, clutched them to her side and tried to will the tremors away, but it didn’t work. Her entire frame started to shake, shivers running down her spine while goose bumps erupted across her too-hot skin. She was never going to see Greg again. He was never going to tease her into smiling, never hold her hand while they watched television, never meet their child. He would never leave the toilet seat up, never abandon his dirty underwear in a pile on the bedroom floor, never absently clean his ears with his socks while he dressed. He’d never make her laugh or make her cry, never hold her, never tell her he loved her.

He was gone. Dead in some godforsaken jungle, and he deserved better than that. They both deserved better than that. After everything they’d gone through, after everything she’d sacrificed, they _both deserved better than that._

Joan opened her mouth, but the scream didn’t seem to come from her. There must have been another woman in the apartment, somebody behind her who was screaming like her heart had broken into a thousand pieces. There must have been another woman, because it wasn’t her. It couldn’t be her. She covered her ears with her palms, trying to block the wretched sound, but it’d been loud enough to pierce her skull and it echoed there. Again and again until it was finally overwhelmed by a torrent of tears.

She collapsed in the flood, pulling her hands from the sides of her head to wrap her arms around her stomach in a protective embrace. It wasn’t supposed to _be_ this way. Didn’t the Universe know that? Wasn’t anybody watching out for her? The movies had made it so clear. If you did the right thing, said the right words, smiled at the right men, waited your turn, acted like a lady…

But she’d never done the right thing. Not really. Every second she’d spent with Roger had been a terrible mistake, even if she really did love him, even if he might have been her soul mate. It was wrong to sleep with another woman’s husband, and there was no excuse, no atonement. She was being punished now, cursed with the one thing she dreaded the most—being alone and scared. A fate she’d fought against with all her might in college, but no amount of friends, boyfriends, hangers-on, lackeys, and affairs could shift the inevitable tide of her loneliness.

Greg, for all of his faults, would never have left her.

Greg was supposed to be there now, a successful surgeon in one of the world’s biggest hospitals, attending cocktail parties, hosting dinner parties for his colleagues, making stupid jokes that always startled a smile out of her (even the ones that deserved nothing more than a silent, disapproving frown). Greg was supposed to be there and now he was gone.

For the first time in Joan’s life, she didn’t know what to do. Standing up seemed to be her only option, so she did.

Headache powder. Her head was killing her. She’d take care of that.

A cigarette. The nicotine rush would help her calm down.

The bathroom. She needed to wash her face and swallow down the ball of tears in her throat because crying wasn’t going to do anybody any good. She needed to make a list. She needed to see to things because nobody else would be there to do it.

Peggy. When her head stopped throbbing and her voice wasn’t in danger of cracking, she dialed Peggy’s number. It just seemed like the next reasonable step, the most rational course of action. She would need to contact Greg’s parents and his friends. She’d probably be on the phone for the rest of the night, but first she needed to make one phone call for her own sake.

“I’ll be right there,” Peggy said, from far away. “You shouldn’t be alone right now. How are you? How’s the baby?”

“The baby’s…the baby’s fine. Physically, I’m fine.”

“Have you called anybody else?”

“No. I just found out…” Her gaze found the clock and she realized it was already after three. Three hours? How could it have been three hours? “You don’t need to come over. I know you’re busy.”

“No…it’s fine. I’ll be there within the hour.”

She was there within forty-five minutes, with food Joan didn’t need but was grateful for all the same. And she was still there that night when Joan finally submitted to sleep.

**7\. (You’re My) Soul and Inspiration**

_Baby I can’t make it without you_  
And I’m telling you honey  
You’re my reason for laughing for crying  
For living and for dying 

Peggy missed the birth. Joan’s water broke on April 20th at eight twenty-three in the morning, but once it broke, everything moved very quickly. They wheeled Joan into the birthing room as soon as she reached the hospital, her contractions already down to a minute apart. She tried to tell them to call Peggy. She didn’t want to go into the room alone, she didn’t want to go through this alone. The pain was unlike anything she’d ever conceived of, tearing through her like monstrous claws, a razor edge ripping through her flesh.

And then they told her to hold very still and seconds later something shifted. The pain was still there. So were the nurses and the doctor and a hundred voices and a million sparkling lights. The pain detached from her and floated high above her head—a black, malignant thing that tried to eat all the light and swallow all the voices. Joan stared at it until it started to stare back, echoing through her mind and back down her spine. The pressure below her waist was enormous, and she was scared her pelvis might break as the contractions came faster. No, not scared. The emotions were tied up in the pain, and the pain was far above her, and she was more curious. Curious if her pelvis would break. Curious if she could survive this. Curious if anybody would even know the difference.

The darkness above her head descended, blanketed her. The last thing she heard was the doctor saying she was fully dilated.

When she woke up again, the world glowed with such brilliance that it hurt her eyes. Joan blinked, and the world returned to normal, except there was a baby cradled in her arms.

“Oh,” Joan breathed, completely, utterly, entirely in love. Every sublime moment she’d possessed, every inch of beauty, every fleeting second of happiness and sigh of wonder coalesced into this stranger she held in her arms. At the same time, the fear, the doubt, the grief, the conviction that she was being punished for sins, both of omission and commission, vanished. Everything was going to be okay. Better than okay. The world was going to be great. How could it be anything less now that…

“I don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl,” Joan said, half-laughing, half-crying.

“She’s a girl,” the nurse said kindly. “Have you thought of her name?”

“No. I don’t know. Look at her eyes. And her eyebrows.” Tears flooded her eyes, and the urge to laugh was gone. “She’s got eyebrows.”

“Yes. Would you like me to call somebody for you?”

There was nobody waiting for her, nobody to worry about her, nobody to celebrate this miracle. But as her daughter blinked up against the light to look into Joan’s face for the first time, she realized she didn’t care. Nothing mattered, nothing had ever mattered, like her…like Grace.

As soon as Joan thought it, she knew it was right. Grace’s eyes focused on her then, and her face pinched just before a wail tore from her small chest.

“Mrs. Harris?”

“Oh, yes. Peggy Olson at Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce. The number…”

“I’ll call information. Now, let me show you how to feed her.”

The nurse helped Joan adjust her hold on Grace, and then handed her bottle of formula. Grace resisted the plastic nipple at first, but as soon as she realized there was food to be had, she began suckling. Joan couldn’t look away from her tiny pink lips, and her tiny nostrils, and her tiny fingernails that were absolutely perfect, as was every other part of her. She lost track of time, letting the world fade to a steady buzz of white light around her while she marveled at the miracle she’d created with Roger Sterling, of all people.

“She’s here,” Peggy said from the doorway, long after the bottle had been set aside and Grace fell into a comfortable post-feeding nap. Joan knew the nurse would be back soon to take the newborn to the nursery, but she didn’t want to let her go. “Oh, Joan, she’s finally here.”

“Come here,” Joan whispered without looking up. “Come and meet her.”

Peggy obediently crossed the room, leaning over the bed to study Grace’s tiny face. “What’s her name?”

“Grace Margaret Harris.”

“Did you name her after me?”

Joan nodded.

“Why…why me?”

“Nobody else is here, Peggy.”

“She’s so…small.”

“Yes, well, she’s just been born. Do you want to hold her?”

“Oh…okay.” Peggy leaned forward and scooped her arms under the baby, careful to cradle her head as she straightened again. “I helped take care of my nephew when I was still living with my mother.”

Even so, she didn’t look like a woman who was accustomed to holding a child. She held herself stiffly, and Joan had seen enough new mothers in her time to recognize the instinctive urge to rock, but Peggy didn’t move at all. Her smile was genuine, but there was a hint of something in her eyes. Something like fear.

“Relax, Peggy.”

“I had a baby once.” As soon as she blurted the words, her eyes widened and a look of pure horror crossed her face. She seemed more shocked at saying it than Joan did at hearing it. And Joan was pretty damned shocked.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought that up here.”

“No, don’t apologize. When did it happen?” Joan asked, immediately thinking of a younger, teenaged Peggy rather than the more obvious timeframe.

“My…leave of absence. I wasn’t in quarantine. I had a baby…and they put me in the psychiatric ward. Because I refused to acknowledge him. It was Don who helped…well, since he was the only one to visit, my mother assumed he was the one responsible.”

“And the baby?”

“Adoption. I told the father…Pete. I told him. But never anybody else.”

Joan nodded, understanding that this was an even exchange. Peggy knew all of Joan’s secrets—they had the tendency to come spilling out of her—but Peggy had never parted with a single one of hers. Until now. The balance of power was now even between them, both of them with their hearts ripped open at the most vulnerable point, bleeding out the truth that shouldn’t be spoken.

“She really is beautiful, Joan,” Peggy murmured as the door swung open, admitting the nurse. “She’s going to take the world by storm.”

“And I’ll be taking her to the nursery now.” The nurse looked over to Joan. “You should get your rest. You’ve had a long day.”

“I will,” Joan promised, her heart clenching at the sight of another woman carrying her child away. Every instinct said to _go after her_ , commanded Joan to _stop her_ right away. The cool touch of Peggy’s fingers on the back of her hand pulled her away from her increasingly frantic thoughts.

“She just needs to sleep for awhile. Now, do you want to hear all about how the firm is falling apart without you?”

Joan swallowed down her nerves and found the energy to smile. She supposed she looked a wreck, and wouldn’t be surprised if the smile looked more like an exhausted grimace, but Peggy still understood.

“Of course. I’ve been dying to hear about Megan’s promotion.”

“I don’t think it’s going quite as Don planned,” Peggy said, pulling a chair up to the bed. They fell into a familiar rhythm, and she didn’t remember to miss the men who weren’t there.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Help!_ The Beatles Sept 4-Sept 18 1965  
>  _Hang On Sloopy_ The McCoys October 2 1965  
>  _Over and Over_ Dave Clark Five December 25, 1965  
>  _We Can Work It Out_ The Beatles January 8-January 25 1966  
>  _The Sounds of Silence_ Simon and Garfunkle January 25 1966  
>  _The Ballad of the Green Berets_ SSgt Barry Sandler March 5-April 2 1966  
>  _(You're My) Soul and Inspiration_ The Righteous Brothers April 9-April 23 1966


End file.
